Changeling
by GoWithTheFlo20
Summary: The past is a funny thing. For something already said and done, written in stone, it has a horrible way of crippling you from moving forward. Sarah is on the cusp of the next part of her life, adulthood. But how are you meant to know your next steps, when you don't even know where you came from? Sarah's going on a journey she's not quite sure she should be taking... Jareth/Sarah.
1. Blackberry Bush

**PROLOGUE- BLACKBERRY BUSH**

 _In the garden at play, all day, last summer,_

 _Far and away I heard_

 _The sweet "tweet-tweet" of a strange new-comer,_

 _The dearest, clearest call of a bird._

 _It lived down there in the deep green hollow,_

 _My own old home, and the fairies say_

 _The word of a bird is a thing to follow,_

 _So I was away a night and a day. -_ The Changeling by Charlotte Mary Mew.

Rule number one: Be careful what you wish for, especially when a Fae is involved...

* * *

St. Neots was a relatively miniscule village in the grand scheme of Englands landscape and population. Not even a drop in the pond when you compared it to Englands major towns like Birmingham, Manchester or London.

The little village was wedged between two towns, Bodmin and Liskeard in the county of Cornwell. Or more accurately, was burrowed just at the end of Bodmin moor. And like a lot of the towns and places that made up the south west of England, it was a hilly place, with plenty of lush green yards and rolling wooded areas to squirrel away in.

St. Neots greatest boast, at the time, was their ornate granite gothic church. A large and intimidating building that cast a large shadow on the land below. It stood on top of a hill, with colored stained glass windows that filtered multi colors into the cavernous room that held the faithful who would sit on stiff pews deep in prayer, or the tourists, few and far between, that would snap the odd picture here and there with an obnoxious white flash. The whole thing, at best, was contradictory really, when one took comparison of the building and its name sake, for St. Neot was rumored to be only two foot tall. In a certain light and at its worse, it was down right mocking.

The village also had a woods, Cardinham woods, and it was a peaceful place. A winter wonderland in the later months, when snow would blanket the lands and robins sat proudly on bare branches, reminiscent of those tacky laminated cards you would send to friends and family over the Christmas holidays.

It was a summer dream when the sun took its rightful place, perfect and almost mythical in its placid beauty. Lavender, hawthorn, bluebells, daisies, baby's breath, daffodils highlighted by the pale yellow light pilfering through the lavish green foliage of the trees above your head. A feast for the senses, a place for painters to paint and for poets to write about and happy families to picnic in.

The Carnglaze caverns were close by, welcoming any and all into their depths if you were brave enough. The caverns were interlinked, totaling three all together. They had originally been used for hard working minors to dig out slate for roofing. During one point in time, the caverns were used as the well concealed hidey hole they were, for anyone who had wanted to hide away contraband and illegal goods. Now however they were used for tours, uniquely seated concerts and even a sparse wedding here and there.

All in all, St. Neots was a parish for a well situated and balanced family. The kind of village that one would not normally move away from. No, generations upon generations would pass through, great grandfathers passing down their small cottages or modest town houses to their offspring, their offspring doing the same once they reached deaths door.

Everyone knew each other, every ones ancestors knew each other, it was the way of that small non-consequential village. That's why on one late summers eve, blackberry picking with her small family, when Bridgette O'Hara stumbled across an abandoned baby, it came as such a shock. And would later, change their very lives irrevocably.

Bridgette O'Hara had grown up in St. Neots, just like everyone around her, just like her husband Henry O'Hara. Her family owned a little tea shop on the edge of the centre of the village, by the church. It did well in business, selling a variety of cakes, tea sandwiches and of course, tea. Henry was the local secondary schools English and English literature teacher, and even had some family over in America, a cousin if she remembered correctly. The two had grown up together, from nursery to secondary school.

Then like all childhood romances, Henry left for Bodmin university to obtain his teaching degree, and for a short while, the two had been separated. Bridgette in her tea shop, baking and Henry surrounded by dusty books and half written essays.

But he had came back, and after some catching up, and the eventual cozy dates that followed, the two had tied the Knott in the grand church both their parents had frequently taken them to on Sunday morns for mass. A year later, Bridgette was pregnant, and nine more months on top of that, they had their first child, a daughter they named Margaret, or Margy for short.

And as the years passed, as wrinkles began to show, and the couples youth began to wain as their childs height grew, they were happy. Exceedingly happy with their little tea shop, happy with their cottage on the edge of the village, content with their life.

Margy was four at the time, and as all four year olds, held the same curiosity for everything around her as all young ones did. She was an out going child, bubbly and brimming with questions that often left her parents despairingly trying to grasp at answers, to explain in a way that a four year old could understand. And as many families did, they created their own traditions as time ticked on. Blackberry picking at the local grove in Cardinham woods was one of them, when summer was sinking and autumn was about to rise.

"Margy, please darling don't eat so many. You'll get stomach ache and wont have any to take home with you."

Bridgette called over to the bouncing four year old. Margy in turn twisted around to face her mother, her face, hands and cheeks smeared and covered in the sticky, and regretfully staining, blackberry juice from the many berries Margy had gobbled down and munched her way through. Her little pink bucket, which was meant for Margy to put the berries in, was discarded as soon as they had gotten there, laying uselessly a few feet away from them. Margys little denim dungarees and blonde pigtails faired no better than her face and hands did, and Bridgette knew it was going to be hell to wrangle the excited child into a bath when they got home.

As excitable and bubbly as Margy was, she also had the temper to match. Something as boring as sitting in a bath and being washed, even with the amount of toys Bridgette or Henry would take in with them, would cause the little girt to fidget, then get gradually more red in the face and finally, she would cry and scream until she was let out of the bath. Or hell would fall upon Henry and Bridgette for the next three hours in the form of Margys tantrums.

At the rebuff, Margy only smiled brighter at her mother. The gap in her teeth more pronounced as more juiced dribbled down her chin. Henry chuckled from beside Bridgette, wrapping an oxford sleeved arm around his wifes slim shoulders, leaning in for a stubbled kiss to her cheek. Turning to her bespectacled husband, Bridgette smiled warmly at him. Margy got her blonde hair from him, rather than her mothers black. But by Margys height and honey brown eyes, Bridgette had won out on that round of genetics, rather than Henrys blue and tall frame.

"Daddy! Daddy! Catch me!"

Then their whirlwind of a daughter was off in a flounce of blonde curls and a flutter of her pink shirt. Henry disentangled himself from his wife and took off after their running daughter, laughing gruffly as he made monster-esq noises, loafer clad feet pounding on the dewy grass, following Margys airy giggles and faster footsteps, both darting down and through the rows of blackberry bushes.

It almost hurt to see the two so happy, knowing this was going to be it, that once Margy grew and the time for games where over, it would be over for Henry and Bridgette themselves. Her and Henry had wanted a whole brood of little boys and girls swarming under their feet. But god was not on their side. After months of trying for another child, they had eventually visited the doctor for tips, only to come away with a mountain of hospital tests. And at the end, Bridgette had been given the devastating news that had never crossed her mind to begin with. She could no longer have children.

It had been a hard blow for the couple,but one thing Bridgette was happy about was Margys young age, she had no idea about the strain it had put upon her parents in the following months. They had both kept it under wraps pretty tightly, painted smiles on their faces for Margys sake, but when night fell, when they could no longer hide from the truth, Bridget found herself crying into the night.

Henry, bless his giving soul, tried his best to console his wife. Promising herself, and likely himself too, that it did not matter, that he had more than he could ever wish for. But Bridgette knew it was a lie, it had to be. They had planned their whole lives out together. She knew his wishes just as much as he knew hers, Henry wanted two daughters, Bridgette the same but with a son thrown into the mix.

But there would be no second daughter, no son in their future. Margy would grow up as a single child, and that would be that. Of course there was the option of adoption, but the waiting lists were long, and often ended up in broken dreams. Bridgette knew she should be thankful for what she did have, for Margy and Henry, and by the grace of god she was.

But that little part of her, that tiny voice in the back of her mind would shout out protests. Sometimes, after a grizzly bout of crying, when Henry had fallen asleep under the pretense she had done the same, Bridgette found herself in their charming little kitchen on her own. Cup of warm earl grey clasped between her hands, staring aimlessly into the vast night and glittering stars from the kitchens window.

On nights such as that, despite her catholic background, she found herself praying to anyone, anything that would listen to her prayers. To give her one more chance, one more child. That it wasn't fair, that people who abused their children, who didn't deserve a childs innocent love, could have so many when Bridgette, who would cut her own heart out for her childs sake, would have that option torn away from her viciously.

Bridgette hastily swallowed down the lump forming in her throat. She would not let her gloomy thoughts taint a day like today, not when the sky was so clear and the sun shined so prettily from above. She could morn her missed chances later, when she was alone. When Margy and Henry weren't around to see the glisten of a tear unfallen or for their own happiness to be sidelined by her selfish needs.

"That's right, leave it to me to pick up the mess. Sometimes I wonder who is more the child."

Although a complaints, it was spoken with an upturn of her lips that formed a quaint smile and dusted with a jovial tone. Bending down to the ground beneath her, Bridgett scooped up Henry's discarded blazer, their picnic basket, and made her way over to pick up Margys over turned bucket. Bridgette had just bent down after folding Henry's blazer over her arm, the one holding the picnic, and was about to pick up Margys bucket, when a small noise whispered at the shell of her ear.

The noise held no meaning, no words to decipher, it was like a small gurgle more than anything. One that reminded Bridgette of memories many a moons passed, where she would hold Margy to her chest, encased safely in her arms, sing her to sleep as they rocked gently back and forth in a rocking chair.

Bewildered, Bridgette glanced around her sharply, frown puckering between her eyebrows as she surveyed the area around her. No one was around, no other family out in the sunshine, not even a bird tweeting away that Bridgette could pin the noise on. In fact, the woods surrounding her sounded eerily quiet, too quiet. Shaking her head softly, some locks coming out from her bun and brushing the nape of her neck, Bridgette brushed the whole thing off as her mind replaying old memories brought up by the giggling of Margy, that if she strained, she could still faintly pick up.

Bridgette went to carry on, pick up the bucket and find her family that had ran into the thick and tall bushes, when the noise came once more, louder and more pronounced this time. Loud enough that if asked, Bridgette could point in the general direction the noise had come from. Her shoulders stiffened automatically, and her hands slackened their hold on the items bundled up in her arms. Spinning around to the right, she waited... And there it was again. She was sure of it.

A small blackberry bush, bizarrely away from the rows of the grove was pushed up to the farthest edge. Dropping the baskets and blazer to the floor, Bridgette made her way over to the bush cautiously. Once there, just as her finger tips brushed the soft mottled green leaves of the blackberry bush, the noise abruptly stopped. Snatching her hand away, as if the leaves had charred her hand, Bridgette almost scoffed at herself. She was sure the wind was simply whistling through the woods, creating the sound she was hearing. There would hardly be a child out here, with no parents or persons in sight. Her sleepless nights were catching up with her, that was all.

Bridgette had turned around, and was about to rush for her family, unsure of why she felt so unsettled, or dare she say it, frightened by the whole thing, when a large gurgle came from the bottom of the bush. Jolting into a frenzy once more, Bridgette acted without much thought. Falling to her knees, she threw her arms into the spiny branches of the bush and pulled the apart, frantically looking through to the heavily shadowed ground underneath.

After her fourth time of moving the branches around, something a vivid green caught her gaze, and her actions became more hurried, almost trance like. Once the right branches were out of the way for Bridgette to see properly, she stalled all together.

bright, and oddly aware emerald eyes blinked wearily at her from a round and chubby face. The two wide set and thick lashed eyes blinked in synchronicity as they peered at an awe-struck Bridgette. A baby, swaddled in an hand made patchwork blanket in a tirade of garish colors, with a crop of onyx curls adorning its head, was underneath a blackberry bush of all things.

With shaking hands, Bridgette reached in and gently, so softly, like lifting a baby bird, pulled the baby out and towards the safety of her chest. The baby didn't utter a peep, not a single noise passed its closed lips, it just stared at her unwaveringly. The babies eyes were large, almost comically so on it's small face, its little nose was slightly upturned, delicate as the rest of the baby was.

With swift and nimble fingers, Bridgette unwrapped the baby from its blanket partially, searching for a name, a clue, anything to give any hints as to where it had come from, where its parents were. All she was met with was flesh, but at least she now knew the baby wasn't an it, it was a she.

Looking over the blanket, she found nothing at all, just little squares of silk, cotton, velvet and fur in a circus of colors. Re-wrapping the little girl in her blanket, Bridgette was brought out of her stupor by a voice she knew all too well coming from behind her.

"Honey, what are you doing?"

Henry was standing behind her, with their daughter happily balanced on his jutted out hip, slightly bouncing her. His smile, upon seeing his frazzled and dazed wife, slowly fractured at the seams until it fell apart completely. Getting up from the ground, Bridgette stumbled over to Henry, hands subconsciously bringing the baby closer to her. Once she got close enough, she slightly pulled the little girl away from her bosom, showing Henry the babies unwaveringly staring face.

"I found a baby Henry... A little girl... A baby Henry... A baby..."

* * *

 **AN:** I know not much makes sense right now, but I promise (Well, really hope) it will all come together in the following chapters. What I can say is not much, because I don't want to give too much away, but I will get some of it out the way.

YES, that baby is Sarah. and NO, those people, Bridgette and Henry, are not a replacement for Irene, Linda or Robert. They will come into play in the next chapter likely. And do not fear good readers, this will not be a rehash of the Labyrinth film, honestly I love that film so much, that there would be nothing I would want to change or add to it. The Labyrinth has happened exactly the way it had in the film. I've just twisted Sarahs back story a little (lot) for the point of this fanfiction. ALL WILL BE EXPLAINED. but if I explained everything in the first chapter, what kind of story would it be? Pointless, that's what. And to be fair, this is only the prologue.

 **JARETH** will take a while to get to, but he will be in it, of course he will, this is after all a Jareth/Sarah story. So please be patient, it will come.

I know I've not answered much, but I do hope you like the snippet I've given you so far and will be looking forward to the next chapters. As for updates, it's a bit up in the air, but I will try to update as regular as possible. However, the next chapter has already been written out, it just needs a few tweaks, and a bit of a read through, so it should be out end of this week, to the beginning of the next latest.

All I can say, is expect mischievousness, mind games and all over trickery. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and please, if you have time, **drop a review**! It will be gratefully received! - **GoWithTheFlo20**


	2. Pink Raspberries

**Rule Number Two** : Remember when the Fair folk are involved, things are never as they seem...

* * *

 **Pink Raspberries.**

Sarah, wrapped up snugly in a hefty peacock coloured coat and heavy knitted scarf, stood prone in the middle of the moderately busy street. Her rental car was parked off on a side road down the bottom of the hill she had just trekked up, her luggage safely accommodated in its trunk. In her hands was a glossy inadequate drawing of something that was supposed to resemble a map, but held nothing similar to the place she was currently standing in. The breeze fluttered past her, ruffling some of her ebony locks in front of her face, forcing her to relinquish the map to brush them back and out of the way.

She was lost, completely and utterly adrift. If she was being honest with herself, something she hated to do in the first place as denial was always painted in a prettier shade, it wasn't just her loss of direction she found herself lacking in. She had been lost in all ways since she had visited her father and Irene at the beginning of spring break.

It was a long overdue visit. Sarah had been too swept up in coursework, essays and all round studying to keep track of the day she was on, let alone the month. She had always had the trouble of keeping time in check, minutes often turning to hours without her notice or care. Her parents, or anyone who truly knew her could attest to this.

After one gruelling day of trying to dissect Vladimir Nabakov's beautiful prose, open books littered around her on her dorm rooms wonky desk and enough coffee to kill a horse, she had finally clocked the skewed little kitten calendar pinned to her wall by sellotape. After a double check to make sure she had read the date correctly, she had promptly rang Irene up to schedule a visit. Her unfaltering feeling of missing her bubbling and rosy cheek little brother Toby being enough fuel to send her typing the numbers into her phone faster than believable.

It wasn't that she didn't care for her father or Irene, far from it. After her original rigid stance against the woman, who at the time she had seen as the dreaded interloper, she had grown to care deeply for her. And of course she cared for her father, but feelings and connections wasn't something that came easy to someone like Sarah. She would be the first to admit her difficulty in cultivating relationships, let alone keeping them in bloom. It didn't come natural to her unlike most people, she had to work for it. With Toby however, it was reversed, easy. There was no forced smiles at conversation and jokes she didn't understand, no small chat she had to try and navigate or emotional responses she had to try and portray.

She wasn't a complete socially inept person, but she was different. And she had come to accept that a long time ago, and so had her parents. That was one of the reason she had taken the degree she had, English literature. If you could understand some ones words, written or spoken, it was easier to understand the people behind the writings and words. A view into the mind working frantically behind their face. And as an added bonus, she got to get lost fantastic fantasies instead of mundane everyday life of a college student she was actually living.

When she had finally made it to her parents house, after dinner had been cooked and served up on steaming plates, Robert Williams had grown more silent as the night drew on. Something unnameable flickering in his eyes, a grim set to his jaw. Sarah had known a unwanted conversation would come, something deep and troubling was wreaking havoc on Roberts mind, and it would only be a matter of time before he let loose. But what she didn't know, was the path it would set her on.

"Toby, why don't you go play in the front room for a little while? Let us grown ups have a boring grown up chat?"

Toby, who was now six, crossed his arms over his chest, frown prominent with a childish pout to go along with it. Even Sarah realized her fathers mistake. Never tell a child they're not grown up, straightforward or inadvertently. She remembered her childhood, how much she believed she had been mature for her age and only in retrospect now, with the hindsight of actually being a grown up, did she know how immature she really was at the time. Trying to save a sinking ship, Sarah lent towards Toby and stage whispered in his ear.

"I promise before I go I will come and tell you a story yeah?"

Like receiving an early Christmas present, Toby's sour face melted into one of sparkling joy. Even going so far as to bounce slightly in his chair. Hopping down from his seat, he was off running to the front room, calling over his shoulder at Sarah as he disappeared around the dinning rooms door frame.

"I'll go tell Owly!"

Sarah knew it had been some time since her last visit, nearly forever in the eyes of a child, but surely she hadn't been gone that long to not know for once what Toby was going on about? At Sarah's befuddled face, Irene sent her an understanding smile, plucked up her glass of wine, took a hearty sip and answered her unasked question.

"It's this barn owl that has taken a liking to this house for some reason. It's always hovering over your old bedroom, Toby's now. Since he spotted the bird, he's grown attached to it. I don't know how many times I've walked into that room and seen him chatting up a storm to it."

A twinge slithered out at Sarah's temple, cracking through her brain, bringing a foggy memory of something feathered, mottled brown and white as it swooped towards her face. Before she could fully grasp the image playing out in her mind, it was gone in a flash, evaporating as quick as it came. Sarah almost chuckled to herself at her own behaviour. Of course she had seen a barn owl before, who hadn't?

"You remember my cousin don't you? Henry O'Hara?"

Snapping back to the present, Sarah stared at her father, more than a little confused at his sudden question that had come flying out of nowhere. Vaguely she could remember Robert mentioning the man before in passing. If she recalled correctly, Henry had a wife called Bridgette and he used to live in England before he went missing years ago, and like all lost people after all this time was believed to be dead. With Roberts unwavering stare focused solely on her, Sarah could see from her peripheral vision Irene taking an even heavier drink from her nearly empty wine glass, only this time her smile was replaced by a tightening of her lips. The tension that had come slamming its way home into the room she was in so suddenly and weightily, found Sarah nodding, not quite trusting her voice.

Robert reached for his own glass of wine, drank, seemed to start his sentence, only to drink again and go through a seemingly never ending cycle of stuttering and drinking mulled wine. Then as if finding his courage when no more drink came spilling from his glass, he squared his shoulders and was focused back on her with pinpoint aim, but he still could not fully meet her eyes.

"There's no easy way to say this, but Sarah... Well... You're adopted."

Sarah couldn't help it, really she couldn't. A boisterous laugh tore its way out of her chest and into the silent room. How much had Robert and Irene had to drink? She was still laughing thinking this was one elaborate, all be it poorly executed trick, when she spied Irene's and Roberts stony and pinched faces. She almost spluttered and dribbled a mixture of coffee and spit down her chin when her laughter seized up in her chest, forming a horrid knotted ball in her sternum. They... They were deadly serious.

"When? How?"

Irene bolted up from her seat and darted for the kitchen as she muttered about needing more wine. Robert sighed deeply, folding his hands up as he placed them on the clothed oak dining table. His thumb rubbing quickly over the back of his clasped hands. A tick Sarah knew all too well, he was nervous and worried. All Sarah could do was stare blankly at him, unsure of what she was feeling, what she was thinking. She was numb, nearly frozen to the core.

"I don't know the full details, but from what Bridgette had told me, Henry and she had found you in the woods. After Henry had gone missing, Bridgette couldn't cope and as next of kin to Henry, we, me and Linda, had been asked if we wanted to take you in. After seeing you the first time, we both fell in love and well, you know the rest."

The rest she knew? Sarah wanted to laugh at him, to cry or shout at him, maybe even hurl something in his direction. She obviously didn't know anything, and some part of her, screaming at the base of her skull still believed this to be a prank that had gone too far. But her father, who was always so serious, so stern, surely wouldn't choose now and this topic to joke about? The carpet had been tugged out from her feet, she felt like everything she knew was a lie, a play she was only now seeing the curtains being drawn on.

She had been discarded in the woods? Left to die... Not wanted? Was she really that bad of a person to warrant such a beginning in life? Suddenly a fire burned through her, boiling her blood and making her words rattle out through her clenched teeth.

"Why now? Why are you telling me this now?"

Even from the other side of the table, Sarah could distinctly hear her father gulp. She watched aptly as he raised his hand, shaking with a tremor of restrained emotions, and delved the appendage into his suits inner pocket. What he pulled out was nothing ominous, just a simple plain envelope that was thicker than most. With a more steady hand, he dropped the envelope onto the table and pushed it over to her, Sarah however didn't move. She didn't think she could even if she wanted to, she was still hanging over that oblivion of shock and mingled emotions.

"You're growing up now Sarah and life is hard enough as it is. All I've ever wanted for you was a good life, the best I could give you. It isn't right... You deserve to know where you came from, everybody does. But I don't hold the answers you are going to need. So as an extremely late university acceptance gift, me and Irene have gotten you some plane tickets for England and enough money to tide you through while you... Find what you need to find. If you don't want to go you don't have to, but the options on the table."

Robert Williams was never good with emotions, showcasing them or taking other peoples into account. Sarah had always thought she had gotten that from him, but how wrong she was when the light was shined down onto the grimy truth. Staring at the envelope in front of her, Sarah tried to place herself in his shoes. She could partially understand why he hadn't told her when she was growing up, even in her later teenage years she was nothing less then a brat. She was a big enough girl with big enough panties to own up to that.

If she was told as a child or a teen, it would have destroyed her. It would have pulled her apart from her family more than she had pulled herself away. That feeling of being different, of never truly belonging somewhere seemed to make more sense now. The flare of a castle standing proudly in front of a sun set flickered before her dazed eyes, the same twinge accompanying it that accompanied the barn owl, but Sarah brushed it off. She had bigger things than her errant imagination to deal with right now.

Glancing up from the envelope, Sarah saw something she thought she would never see in her life. Robert was on the verge of crying, little droplets of salty water threatening to fall down his five o'clock shadowed cheek. Then she was in movement and so was her father, both meeting at the end of the table, the two embraced tightly. Sarah's words were partially choked and partially muffled by Roberts blazer as she pressed her face to his chest, but he heard them all the same.

"It doesn't matter. It doesn't change anything. You're my father, you raised me, cared for me. Nothing will change that. "

Robert pulled away slightly, holding Sarah by her shoulders as he looked into her face, a resigned but happy smile tweaking at his lips. Then her stern but loving father was back, and he coughed into his closed fist, eyes darting to the doorway to the kitchen. When he spoke his voice was gruff and slightly croaky.

"Excuse me, I need to check on Toby."

He was gone, his shiny leather shoes squeaking on the wooden flooring as he briskly walked to the front room. Looking behind her to the kitchen doorway, she was met with the image of Irene, her own sad little smile playing across her rouged lips. Now Sarah understood. Robert was bad with emotional displays as it was, add in an audience and it got disastrous.

Not knowing what to do, Sarah simply watched as Irene walked over, dropped the newly opened bottle of wine onto the table and picked up the discarded envelope. Coming closer to Sarah, Irene reached over and picked up her limp hand, placing the envelope in Sarah's open palm, but instead of taking her hand away, Irene squeezed.

"You should go. This... Things like this can eat a person up if they don't wade through it. And if you get there and it's too tough, you could always use it as a free holiday and an excuse to get away from those dreary books you're determined to bury yourself in."

Sarah chuckled, her own sight blurring a bit from the mist gathering in them. And in that moment, she did something she didn't find herself doing often. Pulling Irene's arm, she dragged the woman to her and gave the startled blonde a hug. Letting go, Sarah smiled at an equally smiling Irene.

"I know we haven't gotten along all the time, god knows I made it hard for you, but thank you. For you know... Putting up with me."

It was the closest thing Sarah could bring herself to say without actually telling Irene she did love her. And by the drop of a tear down Irene's face, the woman knew what she was getting at. Irene giggled, wiped the tear away and flapped her hand in front of her face, as if blowing off all the emotion that had soaked into the air around them.

"Alright, enough of all this heart to heart. I don't think I can handle much more. And if you make Toby wait any longer than you already have, he'll pitch a fit."

Sarah gave a jerky nod and pulled herself together, straightening her spine as she did so. She shoved the envelope into her jean pockets, and simultaneously did the same to her emotions. They could come later, when she had the time to waddle through them and try and name a few. Giving one last glance to Irene, Sarah strolled out the room and to a joyful Toby who knew nothing of the events that took place so close to him.

So, here Sarah stood, alone, lost and unbalanced in a land far from her own. England was wonderful really, an old beauty to it that you could take in from the curves of the buildings, the swerve of the land. But no matter where she looked, for the life of her Sarah could not spot the little tea shop her father had told her Bridgette owned before she left for the airport that weekend, her college coincidentally on spring break giving her the perfect time to get this all sorted out before getting back to business.

Glancing back down to the useless map, Sarah crumpled the paper in her tight fist and roughly crammed it deep into her coat pocket. It may have helped her find her way to the middle of St. Neots, but it obviously wasn't going to take her any further.

With only one option left, Sarah scanned the few people that were strolling past her with unhurried strides and accosted the first one to come close enough to her so that she wouldn't need to shout to get their attention. The unlucky person that would have to put up with her questions was an elderly gentleman. The man was small, barely topping five foot, his hair was a wonder of its own, permed and wash dyed a blue that only twinkled when the sunlight hit it at the right angle. However the colour was made more prominent by the thick and bright red scarf haggardly wrapped around his frail neck and thrown over his left shoulder.

"Excuse me, I'm sorry to bother you but do you know where the O'Hara tea shop is?"

The old man's walking cane clattered to a stop on the pavement as he wearily blinked his large and milky eyes up at Sarah. Then his thin lips pulled up into a smile, showing a missing front tooth, but despite that the man gave off a rather warm aura with a dash of unsettling familiarity.

"Oh my, it hasn't been called that in a long time! Not since what happened, happened. All the same, it's just down that road there deary."

Sarah politely smiled back at the grinning man. Did he know Henry before he went missing? Glancing around her and thinking of her drive through the village, Sarah wouldn't be surprised. This seemed like the type of place where you couldn't bake a pie without your neighbour knowing whether it was a raspberry or apple one.

Nodding, Sarah muttered a quiet thank you and took off down where the gentleman had jabbed his walking cane to. Before she could fully turn down the side road, the man's voice seemed to boom up from behind her. Sarah's temple flared up in ache and she felt dizzy, so off kilter that she had to take a step back to stop herself from falling flat on her face.

"Don't go that way!"

Someone had said that to her before, she was sure of it, but who? Blue, all she could remember was blue and red. Glimpsing behind her, Sarah tried to calm her racing heart. Of course she was thinking of those colours, the man behind her was bathed in them. From his shoes to his scarf to his hair. Running a hand over her forehead, trying to push away the phantom of pain away, Sarah stared at the broadly smiling man, not having to wait long before he continued on in rushed words that drifted through the light breeze that was picking up speed slowly.

"Don't go that way, it's that road, not this one. If you had have kept going that way you would have found yourself on Bodmin moor before night fall."

Breathing heavily through her nose, Sarah tried to fight back the... Something that was tugging on the end of her conscious. Alarm bells were ringing, but she couldn't tell you why, only that they were. But it couldn't be because of this harmless old man, who despite Sarah acting like she was half crazed, was still smiling at her. Softening once the feeling retreated, Sarah muttered another thank you and scampered the small distance to the side road just past the one she was originally going to head down, wanting and needing to get away from the strange encounter and her even stranger reaction to it.

If she had have turned back, only for a glance, or kept her ears open instead of being stuck in her own swirling thoughts, Sarah would have heard the old man prattle on to herself.

"Can't have you going there... Not time for that yet."

But Sarah was encased in the confines of her own mind, like she often was, and she had already turned the corner and disappeared down the road as the man melted back into the small crowd walking down the street, as if he was never there to begin with.

Sarah's first glance and thought of the little tea shop sitting proudly at the end of the road was pink. It was very pink, and from the large window at the side of the single door letting outsiders look in, frilly. Standing at the flaking door, hand resting on the brass knob, Sarah had to push herself to open it and walk through. Would Bridgette be in there, serving cake on pretty plates to doily place-mats? Was this the place Sarah would have the conversation that could change her life, stuck in between the stacks of walnut cake and chamomile tea?

Scoffing at herself, Sarah thought it was now or never, knowing if she left now she wouldn't be able to bring herself back again. Twisting the round door knob sharply, Sarah pushed the door open with more force than necessary, the little bell attached to the door ringing out her arrival.

The small shop was empty all apart from a middle aged woman, she too dressed all in pink, sitting behind a glass cabinet that housed tea cakes and sandwiches. Her face was sharp, despite her being in the throws of the ending stage of middle age, her hair was pulled back into a neat bun, not a hair out of place and from her dubious choice in clothes, it wasn't hard to figure out who had designed the colour scheme of the shop. Sarah had never met Bridgette before, the pacific breaking off the two families, but Sarah couldn't help but wonder if this woman was her, if she was the one who held the secrets to her beginning.

"Are you Bridgette O'Hara?"

Sarah let the door flap closed behind her and stood there in the entry way, unsure whether she wanted to venture further in or turn tail and run for it while she still could keep her ignorance in tact. The woman folded up the news paper she had been reading primly and placed it softly down onto the counter in front of her, eyes scanning up and down Sarah.

"Dear old Bridgette? Why that woman's been dead for years lass. Terrible thing really. No, my names Adele."

That... That wasn't the answer Sarah had been expecting. Dead? Bridgette had been dead for years? Why hadn't Robert been told? Subconsciously flicking her fingers on her right hand, a nervous habit from childhood, Sarah was speaking before her mind could register the words.

"How?"

Adele frowned at her momentarily before it smoothed out and a glint took up camp in her eyes. Tottering around the cabinet, the small and plump Adele pulled a chair out for Sarah to sit on from one of the costumer tables, and then came over to usher her into said seat. Once safely away from the door and situated on to the glossy wooden and stiff chair, Adele went back to her counter, pulling out an old tea pot, serving tray, milk jug and sugar jar. And as she did all this, Sarah could only aptly listen as Adele spoke a mile a minute , words practically blending together into one long winded sound.

"Bridgette ran out on to Bodmin moor in winter of all seasons, in nothing but her nightie to keep the wind at bay. Of course it took the police a while to find her body. But I suppose it wasn't all that shocking really."

Adele plopped the tray onto the rounded table, pulled her own chair out and sat down, setting to work in making herself and a shocked Sarah a cup of steaming tea. Sarah stared incredulously at the buzzing woman, how could she not find that shocking? Before Sarah could walk out, or ask her why it wasn't shocking, Adele carried on with her tale, and Sarah got the feeling that the woman loved a good gossip or a chance to spin a story to an open ear.

"You see poor Bridgette hadn't been right in the head since her lovely husband went missing. Always spouting off on how the little devils were trying to take her memories. Did you know she once tried to get the village council to close down Carnglaze caverns? She had stormed into one of their meetings, in one of her many tizzies, shouting that the little devils lived in there. I believe she used to call it the in-between. Of course it was just the grief and madness talking, but she used to get so worked up over it. Lucy... The woman who owns the launderette down the road from here says she saw Bridgette on the night she died. Apparently she had been frantic, saying something about the lights leading her to Henry. Poor lost soul if you ask me. Tragic."

So, this was it. This was what Sarah had come all the way to England for. She would never know what had transpired twenty one years ago, when she was found in the woods. She would never know if Bridgette had known her real parents, how she had ended up with Robert and Linda. She would never get to meet the woman who had saved her life, who had taken her in. Game over. Sighing softly, Sarah pushed the chair out, the squeak of the legs on the tiled flooring being loud to her ears.

"I'm sorry for taking up your time. I better head off."

Before Sarah could fully stand, Adele's hand shot out and grasped the sleeve of her coat, tugging until Sarah was back in her seat. Looking up, she was met with Adele's confused but smiling face, and then Sarah suddenly realized why the woman had been so forthright and open. New faces likely didn't crop up often, and despite it being rush hour for shops like the one she was in, it was deserted. Adele was lonely and hankering for conversation. Be it grim or not.

"You're American right? The slight twist to your accent gives you away. Surely you didn't come all this way to leave? I've lived here my whole life, I'm sure I can help you with whatever you came all this way for."

Adele let go of her sleeve, but did not pull her hand back onto her lap where it had been before she had grabbed Sarah. Now the limb was resting on the table.

"I really don't think you can."

Adele was fast to answer, her own words out before Sarah had fully finished her own.

"Try me."

So, as honest and straight to the point Adele had been with Sarah, Sarah decided to give the woman the same courtesy. Maybe once she knew she would back off, she would understand that Sarah's questions and answers she had been seeking had died on Bodmin moor when Bridgette too gave her last breath on the open planes.

"Bridgette and Henry, well they adopted me you see. When I was a baby. After Henry's disappearance, his cousin took me in. I just came here for... Well, you know."

Sarah didn't know why she was still here, she should be back in her dorm studying. Lost in words not her own, worlds from other peoples minds. Instead, she was here chasing something she had no hopes in catching, not any more. And why did she want to catch it to begin with? Would finding out the answers to her questions change things for her so much? Could something already said and done really influence future decisions? Sarah wasn't so sure it could, actually she rather stoutly believed it couldn't. But Robert and Irene believed it could, and they had never steered her wrong before.

Then, like the petals of a flower blooming in fast forward, realization fluttered onto Adele's face. Her eyes growing almost cartoonishly wide, her mouth even making that little O shape that Sarah thought only happened in shitty T.V dramas and badly acted day time movies.

"Little Sarah! I thought I knew those eyes! How could I miss it? You don't remember me do you? I used to work for Bridgette as a waitress back in the day. I remember how you used to run rampant around this room, scrapped knees, getting into all kinds of mischief! You gave Bridgette hell, oh yes you did. By god you've grown! And into such a beautiful young lady too!"

Sarah felt her cheeks flush under the compliments Adele was throwing her way. Looking around the room, Sarah tried to picture herself playing in this very room. Frowning, Sarah realized if she was old enough to run around in here, to get into mischief, surely she would have been old enough to remember something, anything from her life with Bridgette and Henry? Instead all she could remember was as far back as six, seven with Robert and Linda. Was that odd? She had never given it much thought before, what age could people pull memories from?

Before seven, things were fuzzy, as if looking through a small window with cling film over your eyes, before age six was blank. Absolute nothingness. Was that not normal? Snapping back to Adele, Sarah tried to haggle more information out of the woman, anything to help her organize her disastrously messy thoughts.

"Do you know anything else? Anything at all?"

Adele's lips grew thin as she pressed them together and Sarah sagged back into the uncomfortable chair, knowing she had gotten all she could have from Adele. Then, Adele shot forward in her chair, almost making Sarah jump by the fast movement, holding her hand up, she hit the heel of her palm against her head as if Adele couldn't believe her own stupidity.

"Hold on! You can always talk to Margy. I can't believe I didn't think of that before."

"Margy?"

Her question went unanswered, because Adele was already out of her seat and off to a small desk of draws behind the glass display table. Pulling the draw open, Sarah was almost shocked at the amount of paper and letters that sprang free from their prison. Ruffling through the papers, shaking her head at a few and flinging them back into the draws depths, Adele finally came to what she was looking for as she held it close to her chest with tight hands. Leaving the draw open, Adele came strolling over and handed Sarah the slip of paper that she had gone searching for.

"Yes Margy! Don't you remember anything? Surely you remember Margy, she's Bridgette's and Henry's daughter, your sister for a time. You two were joined at the hip, I swear!"

And Sarah nearly choked on her own spit as she blinked owlishly at a practically vibrating Adele. Bridgette and Henry had a daughter? Was Margy here in this building? Glancing down at the letter, before she could read Sarah was back at looking at Adele as she spoke, letter forgotten momentarily.

"Yes, you go speak to Margy and then get your butt back here. I have a spare room up above the shop that you can use for the next few days, or however long you are staying. God almighty knows you will need a place to rest your head with the things you will have to sort through."

Sarah's response was automatic, trying to make the woman not feel like she had to do anything for her no matter her old connection to Bridgette, Henry or Adele.

"You really don't have to. I can find a hotel-"

"No, I wont hear it. This place used to belong to Bridgette and she left it to me. I can't go kicking her daughter to the gutter can I? Bad karma that is."

Sarah's first reaction was a knee jerk denial. She was not Bridgette's daughter. As tragic as Bridgette's tale seemed to be, it did not stop the facts or how Sarah felt. Bridgette, to Sarah, was a faceless entity. A shadow from a shadowed world of lost memories. Linda was her mother, Irene too in a way. Not Bridgette.

Instead Sarah tried to be polite, offering to pay for the room. Adele would hear nothing off it, and with rushed and stern hands, ushered her out of her seat and towards the door, the letter still in Sarah's hands.

"No. I told you I wont hear it. I'll have a nice cup of tea and some dinner waiting for you when you get back, but you better get going the hospital will close soon."

Hospital? Was Margy injured or ill? Finally the smooth feeling of the paper in her hand clicked into Sarah's mind and she looked down, taking in the bold lettering and the address line. Her vision almost came to a pin point, going blurry at the edges, all she could take in was the words printed on the cheap paper. Faintly she could hear Adele still speaking to her, muffled, making Sarah think she was hearing Adele from underwater.

"I don't know how much sense you will get out of Margy, but it's worth a shot. The apple didn't fall far from the tree with that one, same little devils that haunted her mother haunt her too. But I'm afraid that is going to be the best you are going to get."

Sarah swallowed loudly, eyes still transfixed on the wording being screamed at her. Margy was institutionalized in a mental hospital. A St. Lawrence asylum, and by the post code, not far from here.

Henry was missing, Bridgette was dead and now this Margy was hospitalized? Was Sarah the only one still relatively sane, or not gone? What the hell had happened all those years ago for a family, in an idealistic place like this village, to turn out so broken and fractured? What the hell was she getting herself into?

* * *

 **NEXT CHAPTER:** Margy and Sarah meet, but does Sarah get any worthwhile answers?...

 **NOTE:** ST. Lawrence asylum is shut down now, has been since 2002, but seen as the Labyrinth film was released in 1986, and Sarah being 15 at the time of the movie, by the time she was twenty one (Which is the age she is in this fic) the date would be 2001. So in my time line, the hospital is still open and working.

As for last chapter, there were quite a few mistakes, grammatical and spelling, I really am sorry for that. I promise to go back at some point and fix it. I would promise there will be no more mistakes, but that would be a complete lie. I have no beta, so as sorry as I am for the mistakes, they're bound to crop up at some points.

As a nice reader pointed out, I didn't really make a lot of sense in a part of my last chapter, and re-reading it I have to agree. When I was talking about St. Neots church and St. Neots being contradictory, I mean between the building and the Saint himself which the church was named after. As the church is rather large, the man himself was actually rumoured to be only two foot tall. As before, when I have the spare time, I will go back and re-write that paragraph to try and make it more fluid and make more sense. So thank you for pointing that out, and if anyone spots something else that doesn't make much sense, please let me know because you are helping me to be a better writer, and in turn getting a better written story.

As for chapter length, I often get carried away with my writing, so if you guys don't like longer chapters, if you just let me know than I will try and keep that in mind.

Right, enough of my mindless rambling, I hoped you guys liked this new chapter, and will like the ones to come and please, with glitter on top, can you drop a review if you have the time?

Thank you to all the ones who reviewed, followed or favourited, you guys make writing worth while. - **GoWithTheFlo20**


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